


Prompt #7 ('Tis the Season)

by Sijglind



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, M/M, Teenage Sam, Top Dean, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sijglind/pseuds/Sijglind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://samanddeanandcasarelove.tumblr.com">samanddeanandcasarelove</a>: "How about a little Wincest with Dean walking in to find Sam naked with a big red bow wrapped around his cock for Dean's Christmas present? (First time & Teen!Winchesters a plus)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt #7 ('Tis the Season)

**Author's Note:**

> [Give me a prompt](http://incestuousfricklefrackle.tumblr.com/ask) on my [tumblr](http://incestuousfricklefrackle.tumblr.com).

"Sam?"

Dean comes back to the little house they are renting in Wahoo, Nebraska while Dad’s away on a hunt, expecting to find his brother curled in on himself on the couch, reading a book. Instead, he’s greeted by a silent and empty living room, the only light coming from the hall leading towards the bedrooms. Immediately, Dean’s right hand goes to the gun tucked into his waistband at the small of his back, fingers closing around the handle.

"Bedroom," Sam answered finally, voice slightly higher than usual, and Dean takes a cautious step forwards, eyes searching the room for any sign of something fishy going on.

"Everything alright?" he asks, hand still on his gun, ready to pull it out, thumb resting on the safety.

"Right as rain," comes the response and Dean relaxes, taking a deep breath, his hand falling away from the gun.

He slips his boots off next to the door and throws his jacket over the back of the couch on the way to his brother, making the old floor boards creak as he stomps through the hall to the small bedroom they’re sharing.

"Seriously, dude—" he begins as he steps into the room, preparing himself to go off on a tangent on why it’s a bad idea to scare the crap out of your big brother on Christmas Eve—only to fall silent abruptly.

Turns out, Sam’s really alright. Physically at least.

Mentally? That’d be debatable.

"Sam?" Dean chokes out, not noticing the breathless, high pitch his voice has adopted, because he’s far too occupied with staring—

Staring at his little brother, who’s lying spread out on his bed. Naked. Completely naked, all gangly limbs and wiry muscles, tanned skin almost perfect but for a few interrupting silvery scars, dark dusting of hair, a trail starting beneath his belly button, leading down to.

Make that _almost_ completely naked, because—

Because there’s a bow. Around Sam’s cock. Satiny, deep red, perfectly tied around hardening flesh, and—oh god.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says silently, peeking through his floppy bangs at Dean, blush on his face spreading to his neck and chest. There’s hesitation in his voice, but determination in his eyes, and Dean, Dean doesn’t know what to do, what to say, what to make of this; his little brother, looking for all intents and purposes like an early Christmas gift, with a fucking bow around his cock, sitting on Dean’s bed with his leg spread like a fucking invitation, all of his dreams, wants, needs, finally coming true and—

"Oh, god," Dean says and swallows.

Sam bites his bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth, makes it red and shiny and look like the most delicious thing in the world. He looks, god, he looks like the epitome of sin, and Dean feels his body react, takes a step closer, involuntarily pulled in by the wonderful, perfect view of his—fuck—his naked baby brother.

Sam looks almost eager as he scrambles upright, to his knees, cock jutting out, hard and leaking pre-come, beads of it on the head catching the dim light in the room.

"Jesus, Sammy."

"I know what you want to say," Sam begins and looks pleadingly at Dean, huge hazel eyes begging. "I know you want to say it’s wrong and that we’re brothers, but we’re not normal brothers and I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes, and I know I look at you the same way, too, and I want this Dean. _I want this_. More than anything else, so please…”

He trails off, bites his bottom lip again, and Dean wants to take it into his mouth instead, wants to bite it, wants to kiss it, lick it, suck it into his own mouth, wants to feel it sliding spit-slick against his lips.

When Sam finally goes on, his voice is barely more than a whisper, “I don’t care that it’s wrong, Dean. I don’t care. I want this. And I know you want it, too.”

The words hang there for a moment, in the silence between them, filled with tension, Sam looking at Dean, waiting.

And Dean moves.

He knows turning around and walking out would be the right, the moral, the _normal_ thing to do. But Sam’s right. They’re not normal. They’re so far from normal, it’s like they’re living in a parallel universe, and fuck everything, because Dean wants this, wanted this for so long, can’t even remember how long.

"God, Sammy, wanted this for so long," he says and then he’s kissing Sam. It’s urgent and sloppy. There’s too much spit and teeth clicking together, but he doesn’t care because it’s also perfect. It’s everything he ever dreamed of and so much more, because Sam’s making these _sweetlittleneedybreathy_ sounds that go straight to his cock and make his skin prickle, his hair stand on end.

His hands are everywhere, touching what’s been forbidden until now, finally feeling what they seemingly always wanted—Sam’s smooth skin, the soft hairs, muscles moving, outlines of sharp bones. The jut of his hipbones, the trail of hair beneath his navel, the firmness of his ass.

He pulls Sam in, swallows his brother’s groan as his cock rubs against Dean’s through the jeans separating them, grinds his hips down again and again, holding onto Sam’s ass, hands kneading his cheeks, fingers slipping beneath them.

There’s slickness against his fingertips and Dean groans, can’t believe it.

"Sammy," he says, doesn’t have to even say the words and ask the question, because Sam knows, shakes his head eagerly—so fucking eager.

"Yeah," he responds, huskily, pushes his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, voice muffled as he goes on. "Didn’t wanna wait. God, Dean, I need this. _Please_.”

“‘kay, baby. I got you, ‘s alright. Gonna make you feel good,” Dean rambles and pushes Sam back and down onto the mattress, fumbling his jeans open with one hand, the other sliding over Sam’s chest, pinching a nipple, rolling it between his fingertips. He watches Sam react to it, his hips jerking in search for friction, hears his breath hitching.

It’s a bit of a fight, getting his jeans and boxers off, and he nearly tears his shirt while he struggles to get it over his head, but then he’s finally naked and can climb onto the bed between Sam’s spread legs, slides his hands over his thighs, feels the shudder of anticipation run through them. One hand closes around Sam’s cock, jerking it lazily while the other slips further down, over Sam’s perineum—a groan, hazel eyes blinking quickly in the fight to remain open—down to his hole.

Dean circles it, feels the warm slickness. The thought of Sam preparing himself, kneeling on the bed, long fingers up his ass, scissoring, pushing in and pulling back out while Sam thinks of Dean, thinks of being fucked by Dean—Jesus—it makes Dean’s cock throb with the need to push inside and feel _hotwettightsweet_.

The first finger pushes past the rings of muscle easily and is quickly followed by a second. Sam’s loose, and Dean has no doubt there would be no problem to get a third one in, or, _fuck_ , maybe a fourth.

"C’mon, not gonna break," Sam says and arches his back, pushes down onto Dean’s fingers and Dean fucks them in and out a couple times quickly, drinking in the sight of Sam writhing and clenching around him.

"Condom?" he breathes and Sam reaches out for the drawer, pulls out lube and condom with shaking hands. Dean doesn’t hesitate, rolls the condom on and slicks his cock generously with lube, shuddering as he jerks it a couple times and then lines it up with Sam’s hole.

With his left arm, he’s holding Sam’s leg up, throwing it over his shoulder, the other winding around his waist as he pushes in, inch by inch, teeth digging into his bottom lip until it hurts, because shooting his load now would just be embarrassing and fucking disappointing.

Sam’s deliciously tight around him, muscles clenching against the intrusion, and he goes slowly, soothes Sam into relaxing by rubbing circles into his abdomen with his free hand. He pauses when he finally bottoms out, takes deep, calming breaths.

"God, Dean," Sam moans, muscles fluttering around the cock inside him. His cock is flaccid by now, the pain of the first time too much for now, but Dean takes care of that, discards the bow and jerks Sam’s dick until it’s rock-hard and drooling pre-come again.

Only then does he start moving, slowly, holding back although his body is screaming with the need to fuck into Sam hard and fast and deep, and finally take and claim what’s his, what’s always been his. But he doesn’t want to hurt Sammy, holds back and sets an even rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in in slow, tantalizing thrusts.

With each second that passes, Sam relaxes more, face losing the grimace of discomfort to make room for an expression of ecstasy, eyes wide and glazed, cheeks flushed, lips slick and parted, and Dean leans in to kiss him again, breathes a groan into Sam’s mouth when he slips in even deeper. He can’t help it and pulls back a bit, thrusts in hard and a bit faster, speeding up his rhythm while he fucks his tongue into Sam’s mouth.

Sam meets him halfway, pushes his hips into Dean’s thrusts, leg tightening around Dean’s middle, and Dean lets go of Sam’s other leg, lets it slip down to join the other at his waist, his now free hands tangling with Sam’s hair as he moves his hips faster and faster.

"Fuck, _Dean_ ,” Sam moans, nails digging into Dean’s shoulder blades, dragging down to leave red welts on his skin.

"Feels so good, Sammy," Dean rambles as he feels himself getting closer, his rhythm getting more and more sloppy and uneven. He leans back, holding onto Sam’s hips with one hand, the other starting to jerk Sam’s cock in quick tugs, thumb brushing over the head, pushing into the slit, and Sam groans, clenches around Dean.

"Yeah, that’s it, baby. That’s it. Wanna feel you come around me, c’mon, let it go, I’ve got you," he says and twists his wrist a bit on the upstroke, and Sam comes, coating Dean’s hand and his own abdomen with his come, muscles clenching, body going rigid, back arching, eyes rolling back into his head. Dean fucks him through it, doesn’t stop jerking Sam’s cock until Sam starts squirming and shuddering, and relaxes completely around him.

Dean takes him by his hips, pulls him down into his thrusts and lets completely loose, fucks him as hard and fast and deep as he wants, Sam’s breathless and blissful moans the sweetest music to his ears.

It doesn’t take long and Dean’s coming, too, gasping and shuddering, babbling something he doesn’t understand as well as the waves of pleasure crash over him, dragging him through his orgasm.

He collapses on top of Sam, their heavy breaths the only sound in the room. Their chests are slick and sticky with come and sweat, and Dean doesn’t care, because there’s nothing that could make him feel as good as he feels right now, with Sam fucked-out beneath him, the aftershocks of his own orgasm still chasing up and down his spine, every nerve in his body over-sensitive.

"You’re heavy," Sam protests after a couple minutes, shoving weekly at Dean’s shoulder until he rolls off him, pulling the condom off his cock and tying it before throwing it in the general direction of the trash.

Sam rolls onto his side, one arm slung around Dean’s middle, face nuzzling Dean’s neck, and Dean decides that this is the best Christmas Eve ever.


End file.
